One Fleeting Moment
by EnvySkort
Summary: Starscream and Optimus Prime have a brief interaction during battle, amidst Starscream's own drabbles and thoughts. Starscream's POV


Author's Note: this is my first time writing Transformers slash, even though this is more of a platonic drabble than anything

Author's Note: this is my first time writing Transformers slash, even though this is more of a platonic drabble than anything else. Set between Optimus Prime and Starscream, from Starscream's POV

Ah, the heat of battle. Lasers fire from all directions, slicing past my wings, my optics, my arms. Everyone, Autobot and Decepticon alike, is engaged in battle, and here I am, analyzing things as always.

This whole situation is, for lack of better term, infuriating. Rather than taking out the Autobots as I've reiterated time and time again, we insist on these insipid brawls. Rather... Megatron insists on them. The senile bucket of bolts. I often find myself recalling some of Prime's words to him a while ago... "junk, ready for the scrap heap, last year's model..."

I find myself laughing, albeit darkly.

Here I am, finding amusement in the words of the leader of a band of goody-goody civilians. He's standing only a few yards away from me, firing away at my comrades and... What's this..? Shielding one of his own?

How he became a leader in this war, I will never know. Sacrificing your body, your fire power, and your energy for a soldier is foolish; such is the Decepticon creed. We are all soldiers fighting for conquest; bonds of friendship are deterrents and compassion is an amenity we are not granted. We know our place. We know our role.

Prime was protecting one of the others... The little yellow one, whose name escapes me. The yellow one looks up at Prime with a smile... And it disgusts me. Decepticons do not look out for each other. We do not admire each other. We work together out of convenience, fear, or a common goal. I hate everyone I am forced to interact with; all of my comrades are incompetent glitches, and I'd sooner rip out my own spark than show them an iota of kindness.

The tide is beginning to turn; I can see the look of panic on Megatron's face from where I stand. He looks ready to retreat.

I scoff. That's his answer to everything, to every scuffle we engage in with the Autobots. Retreat means showing weakness. Retreat means giving up. If he wants so badly to win this war, he needs to assert his strength. That is why he is unfit to be leader; he only knows to run away rather than to stand up and fight.

For millions of years, this war has raged on, and for Primus knows how long, he has fought with Prime. Visions of victory are apparent in his optics, but with that said, Prime still functions. The war will continue, and we will continue to waste valuable time and energy as long as Prime functions.

My own optics flare; with his back turned, Prime is an easy target, and if I take him out, I will earn the respect I deserve.

A running leap launches me forward, taking Prime by surprise. His gun clatters to the ground, and is left behind as the two of us crash through a wall. I feel a surge of excitement in my spark, but it leaves shortly.

Though I have him pinned beneath me, he does not show any signs of fear or nervousness. He realizes that he is in an inconvenient position, and takes me by surprise as he begins to rectify it.

He's... Stronger than he looks, that Prime. A lot larger up close, too. His hands clasp themselves onto mine, and for a brief moment, I hear myself gasp as he flips me over. I am pinned beneath him, and as infuriated as I am to be in this situation, my optics lock with his.

What infuriates me more... Is the fact that I do not see any fury, any hate, any animosity in those blue optics of his.

Primus. I even remember what color they are. But Primus help me, I can't forget them, no matter how hard I try.

Those optics searched me, for however many seconds they were locked with mine. Searched me. Probed. Questioned... Pitied.

Yes, pitied. He's seen how Megatron treats me, of that much, I am positive... But I don't need the pity of some Primus-damned Autobot. Even as he holds me down, he is hesitant to apply more pressure to my wrists, which are currently pinned above my head. Hnf. He could crush my wrists if he wanted to. But he doesn't. He just looks.

An explosion nearby deters his attention, and over his shoulder, I spot flaming debris falling from the ceiling. He sees it too.

And he rolls out of harm's way.

But not alone. He takes me with him. As the debris smashes to the floor, he even shields me for a brief moment with that colossal frame of his. Of all the indignant things to do...

Autobot programming must thrive on malfunctions such as this. How much sense does it make to protect an enemy, in the midst of battle? Not to mention making such... Inappropriate optic contact.

I realize that he's still holding onto me... It's a demeaning situation, one which, if he is ever at my mercy, I will severely slag him for. Being cradled in those gargantuan arms like some... Protoform...

He eyes the debris near us, not seeming to notice shards of metal jammed into his shoulders.

I almost feel bad.

Almost.

I maneuver my arm from his grip and land a clean shot to his chest, just enough to knock him off of me... Not to hurt him, much.

I suppose... I suppose he got to me, albeit for a brief moment. I ignore the blue optics staring after me as I join Megatron in yet another hasty retreat.

It was nice to be cared for, if only this once.


End file.
